Last Day
by Unjax
Summary: The war is over, but at a price. Yang is struggling to come to terms with the realities of war, while Cinder lies in a broken hospital bed, surviving only so she can be imprisoned. But war and death go hand in hand, and even after, both women will find that, one way or another, it is their last day. (T for language and more serious themes).


_He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you._

* * *

It was a celebration.

Sure as hell didn't feel like it though.

A gold streak, flaring brightly, then a burst of color, red that flickered and then reappeared as blue in a massive starburst sphere. Three more followed, and then the concussive _booms_ pummeled her eardrums. It was beautiful in the most morose of manners.

Streams of purple sparks shot up, then another large red explosion, sending streaks like falling angels across the sky. Cheers sounded from beyond the hill upon which she sat. They were all celebrating, all enjoying the show.

It _was_ a celebration after all.

Yang buried her head in her hands, a soft sob wracking her body. An entire school cheering just a few hundred meters away, because a war had ended. Blood, violence, pain, suffering - it was over. Life could go on now. People could be happy again.

Yang couldn't. She knew that much.

The statue stood, tall and eternal, just behind her. It was incredible. Round cheeks, the powerful curve of toned, sleek muscle, quirky smirk... It all looked just like her. The artist had outdone himself. He had immortalized her. Even the sweep of her hair, the way her cloak flowed, the confidence in the way she held the scythe, the pure hearted innocence, was exact in its replication.

Yang couldn't bear to keep sitting, so she allowed herself to collapse, her neck craning backwards to see the tall figure. Another sob wracked her body. Wet wishful tears welled under her eyes. The only thing she wanted was for it to be a lie, for it all to be some cruel joke. She would take a thousand years of war if it could have ended in a different way.

She knew why Ruby had done what she had done. It was the only way. She sacrificed herself to save the world. A pure, simple heart and a pure, simple action. Selfless in all its selfishness, though that selfishness was nought but the reflection of Yang's own.

She would have let thousands more die to save her sister's simply selfless soul.

* * *

 _"Yang Xiao Long-"_

 _"Cut the crap. Why am I here?" Angry, because she was afraid. Petrified. A heavy sigh answered._

 _"This is not the first time I've had to do this, but it is one of the hardest. The world has lost a great-"_

 _"Shut the fuck up and tell me which one of them it is." It was a no-win situation. She knew that. But knowing would be better. Knowing would always be better. Because right now they were all dead. Right now it could be the beautiful black-haired faunus, or the coldly kind heiress that was always level headed, or it could be her sweet sister. Her family. Her flesh and blood. Her father had died years ago, nothing but a ghost now. Her mother had abandoned her as a child... Ruby was the only one left. Silently, Yang hoped that it hadn't been her, and hated herself for it. Because if it wasn't Ruby, that meant she was hoping that Blake or Weiss had died. And she couldn't bear if Blake, her beautiful, kind, redemptive partner, was gone. And she wouldn't survive if it was Weiss, the one who had the most to live for, who had to fix the wrongs of an entire empire._

 _She was silently, terribly, horribly hoping that it was one of them in particular. The one that meant the least to her, the only one she could survive knowing was dead. And it was the only one she knew was still alive._

 _She wished it was her._

 _One bright flood light dangled between them, the only distance separating them a small metal table. The wrought iron chair was uncomfortable, but Yang didn't notice. All that mattered was the thin, tall man in front of her, gazing over half moon glasses. All that mattered is what he knew and she didn't and that would destroy her._

 _"After the event, Miss Belladonna brought you back, dragged you all the way here. She was crying the entire time, she didn't even ask about the others. She just demanded that the doctors fix you." Okay, it wasn't Blake. That was good._

 _But it was awful._

 _And thinking that made Yang awful._

 _"Would it be easier with her here?"_

 _"Isn't the whole point that I don't get to see them? That you need to figure out if someone's responsible for what happened?" She longed for her partner's embrace, but the fear was ripping her apart. Wolves of the world paled in comparison to those of the mind._

 _"We already know what happened. It's a... Dirty process, but in such circumstances we can't let you see the others until a conclusion has been made. Miss Schnee's testimony made it clear that no one was at fault."_

 _And the world fell away._

 _Buzzing in her ears, Ozpin kept talking, his mouth moving, but she didn't hear._

 _"No," A murmur, weak and scared. Like a child's. "No, you're wrong."_

 _"Yang-"_

 _"No!" She insisted, but she knew it was true. Who else would have done it? The scraps of information, the slight things said to her, the vague hints, she knew who it had to be. She had been unconscious when it happened, useless as her sister threw herself into the enemy's clutches. Threw herself in to stop the wretched witch that had burned Yang's world to the ground._

 _And had now taken the last of her family._

 _Weren't families supposed to be forever?_

 _"Yang." This time sharp, forcing focus. The buzzing was still there though, the dull ringing of numb shock. "Your sister was a-"_

 _"Don't." A sneer. "Don't say she was a hero. She did what was always expected of her. She did what_ you _asked for. And no one else was willing. Not Blake or Weiss. Why couldn't they save her? And I was useless and knocked out and all of us should have done something and she shouldn't be dead and she could be here talking..." Tears now, crystalline, catching the intense light from above her. Words withered, washed out by sobs and Ozpin would never know that it was one phrase repeated over and over again. "Why wasn't it me?"_

 _"Why wasn't it me?"_

* * *

"Yang?" A quiet call, immediately placeable. A soft shadow moving against deeper ones, amber eyes catching the flashing bursts of light cracking the sky apart. But even if the fireworks could shatter the sky, it would leave the world no more broken than it already was. More tears, crashing sobs ripping through her body.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating?" It was venomous, cruel, but only a fraction of what she felt for herself.

"They celebrate because it means they don't have to think about what happened. We don't because we need to figure out how the hell we live with what's happened."

"I wish I didn't have to."

A breeze, icy and inconsiderate as it cut her skin, but she didn't care. Pain was easy. Pain didn't bother her anymore, it didn't even compare to how she felt.

"Yang, even if you had been awake, there was nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done."

"I know. You don't think I've thought through every single possible way that it could have gone? If I had trained more, if I had been better, if I had been able to kill Torchwick and Cinder, but there wasn't any way. Ozpin told me what happened. Nothing could have changed it."

Silence, brief but powerful. Choking.

"But it doesn't mean I don't wish that it had somehow been me instead. I can't live with any of you dying, not if it had been you or Weiss instead of her. Only me."

"Yang," Barely a whisper. Blake's hair was draped between them like a silky curtain, reflecting shattered moonlight and occasional gold and green bursts. "It's my fault."

"Don't you _dare_. You don't get to think that it's your fault. You don't get to blame yourself for this. You're no different than us. You couldn't have done any-"

"I could have killed Torchwick." Yang frowned.

"You did," Blake drew a shaky breath.

"Six inches."

"What?"

"Mountain Glenn, all those years ago. He was in front of me, I had my sword at his throat. Six inches, that's how far the tip had to move. From behind his carotid artery to in front of it, over the throat to be sure. Six inches. It's not like I hadn't done it before, but I thought I should change. If I was ever going to redeem myself I couldn't murder. If I was going to be good enough for Beacon, for the team, for you... Then Weiss crashed through the door and-" Her voice caught and she broke off. Yang looked at her partner. She had never said, never even hinted to Yang, that that had happened.

"He got arrested-"

"He escaped-"

"You couldn't have known-"

"I _should_ have been willing to-"

"It would have been wro-"

"Ruby might still be alive!" Blake's words were forceful despite the tears in her eyes.

"And you wouldn't be." Yang sneered back. "If you had done that, if you had murdered him then, it wouldn't be you here. Someone that looked a lot like you, fought like you, had your eyes even, would be here, but it wouldn't be you. I would never have loved you Blake, and you would never be able to be a huntress. Ruby _might_ be alive and you _would_ be dead. You'd have never been born. You could never have existed, and you'd be just as bad as Torchwick."

The silence and shadows filled the world then, broken only by violent detonations of lights.

"I want to feel guilty." Yang could hardly get the words out.

"Because if you're guilty there's a reason to blame yourself. You can hate yourself, and then, because you're a terrible person, you can justify how you feel. It's okay for someone so twisted to feel the way you feel." Blake finished, summarizing her thoughts.

"It's better than the alternative." That burning that even now Yang felt. The cold fire that burned without feeling. Numb. The only impulse for revenge. "How do we live like this otherwise? How can fate do this to us if we didn't do something wrong?"

There were no words for a while, just the slinking of the faunus up to Yang's side and the brush of an arm being draped over her shoulder. Yang tucked her face into Blake's shoulder, that of the woman she loved. She didn't want to love, because she wanted to believe she was twisted and incapable of love and for it to be impossible for others to love her.

But she did love. She had loved Ruby as a sister, Weiss as a friend, and Blake as more than that. Her heart was rent, shattered, ruined, but enough of it was left to love. To care.

She didn't want to care anymore.

And the fire was giving her a chance not to.

"It's not over." Blake's voice held an intensity that was surprising, but Yang knew what it meant. "We still need to make sure _she_ gets shut away forever."

"Not shut away..." A worried glint in warm amber eyes. "Blake, would you run away with me?"

"I..." Blake looked away. Yang knew what she was asking. Blake had run her whole life, it was her biggest fear. She had left the White Fang for this exact reason. But Yang wouldn't be able to stay, not after she did it. It was wrong. It was criminal. But Yang was a ghost of who she had been, and she could afford immoral.

As far as she cared, Yang Xiao Long was already dead.

But Blake couldn't afford it. Blake wasn't dead. Blake didn't have that cold fire.

"Then don't. There'll be others for you. You'll find someone. Weiss will always be a friend for you. You can have a life."

A quiet sob.

"I already lost Ruby, I can't lose you too. Don't make me lose you."

"I'm already lost Blake."

* * *

The repetitive booms echoed around the cliffs, bouncing into her room over and over again, waking her with their incessant cadence. Cinder Fall tried to roll over, but felt tugging on her wrists. She looked down, saw bandages covering her sleek body. There was a clinking, and she saw metal on her wrist, then looked over and saw a similar shackle on her other wrist.

It was over.

That's why there were fireworks. Because she had failed. Each one eliciting screams of happiness and joy for everyone but her. How had she failed?

Frustration boiled over her, making her want to scream, but she would not be so undignified. Besides, her throat felt hoarse, and she expected that had she spoken, it would have caused only pain.

That little red-cloaked vixen had ruined her revolution. How could one _child_ have done that. She wasn't particularly smart - skilled yes, but not smart. She had a good team, but so had Cinder. In fact, she reminded Cinder a little of herself. Drive, determination, skill, except Cinder had been smart enough to figure out what the Kingdoms were doing, and smart enough to come up with a plan to stop it. She was the fallen angel, rebellious because revolution was right. To her anyhow.

And it was all over.

She was alright with the war ending; she had never cared for the violence. She didn't mind it of course - it had been necessary, but she didn't enjoy it. She was trying to raise the kingdoms after all, not raze them. Yet she had no regrets, except that she had been stopped.

By a dust-damned child.

Not that Ruby Rose had fared well for it.

There was a slight creek of old wood hanging on rusted metal hinges. Cinder's head snapped to the side, vision swimming at the violent movement. Shadows, like a murky river, concealed everything except for two faintly glowing red irises. The eyes of a demon, another fallen angel.

She knew who this was. The sister. And there was only one reason she could be here.

"Come to finish the job?" Cinder mulled the words over on her tongue, though to her displeasure, she had been correct in assuming that it would be painful to talk.

"Why?" It was the penultimately necessary question. It was one that Cinder had asked herself, years ago. Why was she doing what she was doing? Then she realized that it was the same question that everyone asked. Why did anyone do what they did?

"Because, given the circumstances, it was the best thing to do."

"Murder? Subterfuge? Slaughter? Killing an innocent girl?" Cinder frowned, realizing the significance of the eyes. They used to be lilac. She had done her research, and the only time they were red was when the semblance, the anger, the _beast_ came out. But there were no other telltale signs. No burning hair, no loss of cognitive function... Just hatred. Nothing but the beast.

"I don't expect you to understand. You don't know what I know about the kingdoms, but the truth is that nobody will ever do something they deem to be wrong. I don't regret my actions. At the time, I did what was my best option. You can call my methods twisted and evil, but at the end of it, that's all relative. It's where you draw a line in the sand and refuse to step over it because you lack the perspective necessary to do so."

"You're wrong."

"You don't think it's a matter of perspective?"

"About doing what someone thinks is wrong. I know what I'm about to do is wrong, and I'm going to do it anyways. They'll burn me for this. I'll hate myself, and so will everyone that used to be my friends. I don't want to do this."

Cinder laughed, a melodious chuckle.

"Oh, you don't get it at all, do you? You're still doing what's best. You're destroying the lives of your friends - who's the pretty one again? Blake Belladonna? Adam Taurus had a few choice words about her and her pretty little-"

 _SLAM!_

Metal creaked and groaned as the fist retracted from the now mutilated bedside table.

"Taurus is next for ever having touched her." Low, angry, dangerous and broken. Those were words that could describe that voice.

"Ah... Touchy I see." Cinder smiled despite herself. "But you're selfish. You don't care that they'll be loosing you. You don't much care that others think it's wrong, that you know you _should_ think it's wrong. All you care about is that fire in your stomach. The rage, the burning desire to exact pain on others, on those responsible. On me. On Taurus. On Neopolitan, though you don't tend to do well with her."

The pits of scarlet burned, still slinking in the shadowy void just beyond Cinder's senses.

"To you, it's not wrong. It's right to ruin the others to fulfill you revenge. It doesn't matter how many bodies are burned in the process. It doesn't matter if what's been done is unfixable. All that matters is vengeance, because that's what's right for you. And you can't deny it feels right."

"Maybe..." There was some genuine consideration for a moment. "But why her? Why did she have to die? It was over, you had already lost, why kill her?"

Cinder was silent. She could feel it, the fury that had driven her for so many years. The hatred of those running the world. The pain of a young woman who had lost her love to corruption. The anger morphing, evolving to make her into what she had to be. Pitiless, emotionless, intelligent and driven. But those were side effects, it was the anger, always the anger, that rage that she saw mirrored in two glowing flecks that almost looked like burning cinders in the air, that had lead to everything. That was the source.

And then seeing it slip away... The rage had nowhere to go. Nothing could be done except to see the small girl who had done it. Who had ruined _everything._ Had unwittingly condemned the world. Talented, but inexperienced. Weak compared to herself. Someone who had callously destroyed years of her life.

And the rage took over. Cinder faded into oblivion, and the beast reared its ugly head. It ripped, tore, mutilated, and preyed, heedless of its own destruction.

Cinder was not surprised that she had woken up injured, maimed, and captured. She had not expected to survive at all.

"Why kill her? The same reason you're about to kill me."

"Then you're petty."

"I renounced my saint-hood long ago, as you're about to." The thought was amusing. "We'll be sisters of a sort."

"I don't have a sister anymore."

"No, no you don't. But your eyes betray you. You've never had a sister. You're not a person. You're nothing but rage. You're the beast. You, me, Adam... We're all the same. We're the ones that let it take over. We're the ones that let it ruin us, mutilate us, corrupt us, and turn us into creatures. You don't have family; you never did. All you have now is us, the others that are like you. Twisted, malevolent creatures with no purpose but to burn."

There was quiet, and then a few steps. The faint light of the moon washed over her, from the leather boots to the short shorts to smooth skin to her leather jacket. Then her face came into focus as more fireworks could be heard just beyond the reaches of the room, being watched from where no one would ever hear what happened. The beast's face was smooth, like it had been etched from polished marble, but a far cry from the cheerful beauty it once possessed. It was still attractive, no doubt, but it was much like her own now. Never again beautiful, but undeniable in the lust and desire it would inspire.

Then a _clink_ of metal on metal. Two gauntlets, resting on the previously smashed table. Orange cloth pulled over bright hair, and another strip untied from her leg. She held the last one for a moment, next to her face, her eyes shut. And then she let it go, fluttering to the ground.

"Yeah, you're right." But there was no regret, no defeat. There was no one left to be defeated. "I'll burn, but I'll burn so bright I'll snuff the other flames out. One by one, starting with you."

Cinder smiled even as she saw the needle inserted into her IV tube. A clear liquid flushed into her system. Ice crashed through screaming veins, burning then numbing. And then it hit her heart and exploded through her system. She could feel the muscle stop, but it was seconds before it reached her brain.

And in those seconds she saw the burning red eyes lean forward clear in the light, studying as they approached, watching, stalking, ensuring she died.

But it was alright, because Cinder Fall had been dead for years.

And in that moment, she knew that both she and her assailant had died.

And all the while people cheered as fireworks detonated, exploding and pulsing like bursts of joy, life, and love. Cheered as one of their peers fell, like an angel, like the ashes of the fireworks: spent, burnt out, ruined, and discarded once all its joy had been used.

With nothing left behind but a spark, a cinder.

And that would grow into the flame that would feed the beast.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

 **Yeah.. it's been a long week.**

 **So, new style, trying it out. Not much time invested in this one, but thought I'd try it out. If you enjoyed, I'm glad! Thoughts on the style are also appreciated, or any general revision. Thanks for reading!**


End file.
